A Little While
by kris10lea
Summary: Dean wasn't a bad brother. John wasn't a bad father. Sam wasn't a bad son. A story of loss and being found.
Living with John Winchester was hard.

Dean would disagree. He had this… _ability_ that made change easy. He could shed one skin into another and easily slip into what society (or high school, whatever) wanted. Like a chameleon, his colors changed, but he remained the same Dean.

Sam would agree. He had this ability that made change hard. His shy eyes and soul made people either fall in love and lave on him with sweets and " _you're adorable_ _and_ _adorable"_ or get him called geek and bullied. Society never had accepted him and the high schools were hell. His skin never changed, but he found himself always wanting to be accepted.

Especially in his own home.

Dean was wonderful, a big brother and father through and through. From Lucky Charms to secret handshakes to hunting partners, he was there every step of the way. That is, until Dad came into the family's angry and red picture.

Screaming. Crying. Sulking. Didn't matter what Sam did. Dean and Dad never listened, never understood that he wanted one thing. Just one thing for them to proud of: him. A science project that won the $50 extra that John had no idea where it came from was crumbled in the trash bin right behind the motel. An A on a math test where when the night before Sam hadn't slept a wink and his teacher noticed. Scoring a goal on the soccer team he wasn't supposed to be on, but he hid it well behind his "geekiness" and athleticism. He wanted them to see him, to _see_ him for _him,_ to understand that he was Sam and not Dean, but _Sam._

"Just… stop fighting him," Dean had begged loudly one night. The fight had been particularly loud and John had escaped to his best friend Jack and the night stars. "He protects us, Sammy. Just stop the fighting. Stop being selfish and grow up! Stop questioning Dad every chance you get and just…. Stop everything, Sam! I can't stand it and Dad can't either."

Sam never thought he would stop. The screaming and voices were ingrained in him. "I'm good," he screamed. "I'm worthy."

Dean had told him to stop though. His big brother was _always_ right, even when he wasn't, and it wasn't until that night that Sam understood his worth in his family. He was there and that was it. Maybe a burden, maybe a weight to carry upon too heavy shoulders, but he remained whether they liked it or not. And did that not put Sam into a somber mood? He had no voice because there was nothing that he had to say that they would listen to. They didn't care.

So, he became silent. A 'yes sir' or 'no sir' or occasionally 'ok' and 'fine' and 'it's x=2' slipped past his lips over the next few months. He was quiet and controlled and in the background. And he was observant, seeing the smiles that occurred more often on both Dean and Dad's faces. He was the background and they couldn't be happier.

Eventually, and surprisingly, it was John who noticed that there hadn't been a fight with his youngest son in about 3 months. And knowing his son, that was miracle in itself. While he appreciated the fact that there had been no fights, no disagreements, nothing, he was concerned. It wasn't very Sammy like. So, he approached his youngest and sat him at the worn down table that had seen better years.

"Sam," he began, awkwardly and he cleared his word-clogged throat. "You… you ok?"

"Yes sir," was said quietly, no eye contact and nothing warm. Just distance.

"You sure, kiddo? You've been… quiet the past few weeks."

Sam sat there, considering telling his father what exactly was wrong and why words no longer held their place upon his tongue, no longer lashed out like a whip at his father. "I'm sure," he conceded, eyes behind too long bangs.

John had sat there and considered his options, but he reached his long arms out and wrapped Sam's shoulder in his large paw and squeezed lightly. "You know you can tell me anything, Sammy."

And he _felt_ Sam shrink away from him, _felt_ the physical recollection from him and out from under his hand. "Yes, sir, I do know," another confirmation, but total bullshit. Sam had come to his father, to his brother, multiple times and they had never listened. Why now?

"Good, kid, good," John nodded, feeling oddly like a stranger would talk to a fourteen year old, but still continued. "Well…um, we have some free time here. Have two weeks before the full moon. I could go to a soccer game?"

Sam stiffened and barely controlled a sniffle. He was young and hormonal and emotional. He hadn't joined a soccer team in half a year. "Nah, it's ok, Dad," he finally looked up and connected hazel and brown and just smiled a smile like fifty years of war was pressed upon him. "You don't have to."

"You sure?"

The question hung. Relief powered John's facial expressions. Why would John Winchester want to attend a soccer game when he had monsters to hunt? "Ya, Dad," he gulped, eyes still connected and shinning bright with a false truth. "I'm sure."

"Ah… ok, Sam," John removed his hand and flexed it as he continued to look at his too weary son. "You want to go take a nap?"

"I think… I'm going for a run?"

"That's my boy," John praised with a might slap back onto his son's bulkier shoulder. His sons pursued the better, the best, and he couldn't have been more proud for Sam to finally see this way.

Sam's heart broke a little at the praise, but he nodded, sent a small smile his fathers way, put on the too many holed sneakers and prayed that they would hold together while he ran. Dean hadn't gotten him new shoes and he didn't have the money yet.

It had been another few weeks before his brother noticed the silence. Dean had always shared a room with his younger brother, even when there were more rooms, but Sam had insisted on having the small room in the back left corner of the house. _"I'm old enough to sleep on my own, Dean,"_ he had huffed and Dean didn't think twice. He had his own room, his own comfortable bed to bring chicks back to, and that's all that mattered. Until he realized he couldn't recall Sam ever saying those words to him. It was in the eyes and Sam? Sam was vocal.

"Hey, Sam-I-Am," he cornered his little brother in the kitchen and smiled tightly, but loosely at the same time. "Whatcha up to?" A shrug answered him. "You want to go get dinner with me? Dad will be home from his interview soon and I'm sure he'll like the hot food we've got for him." Sam had just shaken his head and motioned for Dean to get going. "What," Dean played dumb and begged to hear Sam's voice again. It had been too long and he was more than a little concerned at his brother's lack of words. He used to have so many, _too_ many.

"Go ahead, I've got some homework to do," the voice that echoed in his ears was new. It was low and gravely and who had noticed that puberty hit Sam in the full? Dean took a long glance at his young sibling and saw that he had grown, both in height and in muscle.

"Don't you have some geek boy show coming up soon? Maybe I could go to that, huh? You haven't told me when it is yet," he playfully shoved Sam and Sam quietly stepped back, no playfulness, no eye contact back. Quiet.

Sam hadn't competed in a Science Fair in 8 months now. "Nah, Dean," he looked up and played a smile on his face like a violinist played the sweetest high E note. "It's ok. You've got the hunt to focus on."

Dean nodded, still feeling partially guilty, and tried to grab his brother into a manly hug. Sam did, after all, just spare him an afternoon of geeks and science. But as he reached Sam had managed to just _twist_ enough to avoid the contact, making it look like an "opps" situation than that of an "ok, what is up" one. "Alright, Sammy, if you say so. How about dinner? This stomach ain't going to feed itself."

Sam still hadn't joined him.

A year and a half later, despite being with each other constantly, none of the elder Winchester's had figured what was going on with Sam. There was quietness and a steeliness that they couldn't explain, but both John and Dean enjoyed being without fights and without too much noise. The youngest Winchester had turned 16, but neither of the elder Winchester's had remembered and it past like any other day. Dean had turned 20 and John gave him the Impala, Dean beaming at both his brother and dad. Sam hadn't rode with Dean that day, either.

Neither had seen the quiet depression that had snuck upon their kid and they continued on in their revenge and blood fueled hunts. April 8th was the closest Dean had gotten to finding out the truth. April 8th was the sign for the big science fair and was labeled on every poster surrounding the halls in the high school. Sam hadn't been in a science club for almost 15 months now, but Dean went and searched for him unknowingly.

"Sam, why weren't you in that nerd thing today," Dean had questioned softly, gently patting his brother's shoulder and damn near vomited when Sam flinched away. He saw the shrug and heard the sigh that was released but no more. "Did you not finish your project or something? I could've helped?"

Dean had helped enough times.

Sam shook his head, quietly and gently. "Nah, Dean," he whispered. It wasn't low, but it wasn't high either. "I… I didn't feel like doing it, plus the hunt comes first."

Something was wrong. Sam always wanted to make something for the fairs and almost always came to Dean, asking for random supply runs and help. Even when Sam was too tired from the long lasting hunts and didn't feel like working on a science project, he did. "But that never stopped you before, kiddo?"

Sam flinched a little at the almost accusation. "I didn't feel like it," he admitted again and Dean just smiled a little and broke all the hope Sam had. "Plus," he hesitated, the words already sour on his lips and he decided to hold them and replace them, a small trade. "Wouldn't need your help anyways, jerk."

"Alright, bitch," the smile widened and Sam smiled tightly back at the happiness on Dean's face. "

One more year had past and Sam had grown above and beyond John and Dean's heads. Inches now separated them in height and Sam had bulked out, laved up in nothing but muscles and strength. His father was almost proud of the way he had grown into his manhood. But Sam knew he would never be.

Dean and John had shot down the ghoul that made their vampire nest hunt so much harder than it should have been. They had gotten separated from their Sammy and hearts were racing faster than they could have imagined. They had left him back in the barn, where they had originally thought was abandoned and vampire-less, until the ghoul had laughed and whispered the truth. Sam could be dead.

The race back was blank. Neither could ever recall the way they pushed through bushes and stumbled over rocks and tree roots and sunk their heels into dirt deeper, pushing off harder and faster. But, if asked, they both easily remembered the sight that greeted them.

The barn that had been empty was now scattered with at least four headless bodies, the heads rolling around varying places. And while that in of itself was a massacre, they caught sight of Sam. He was overpowering a vampire, quick and at ease, swinging the machete tauntingly as the vamp sunk away from the blood stained skin and dark eyes.

"P-please," the vampire had begged, and John and Dean had _never_ heard a monster beg for its life like this one was. "Please…"

Sam had just tilted his head, eyes calm and blank and almost empty before he swung once, severing the neck of muscles and tendons and arteries in one foul blow. The eyes of the thing were wide and almost held a sad look before the head rolled with a sickening sound. Blood was everywhere, dripping off in un-rhymed patterns around Sam. The moon bathed him its light through the holes in the roof and anchored shadows around him, making him seem like so much more than the little boy that John and Dean knew.

As high that Sam should be feeling, he merely turned around and connected his eyes with his family, and nodded to their stunned faces. They were safe now.

Two weeks later, Dean found an incomplete college application in Sam's trashcan. A note had been written on one, one from a Stanford counselor, begging him and his high school counselor to apply. Sam was special and smart and could do oh-so-well in life if he filled out the sheet of paper. The neat scrawl was ruined by the crumbled appearance and Dean sighed, never mentioning college applications to either of his family.

John had finished an interview early and stepped out onto a soccer field, scouting for his son who would most likely be running up and down the field with his classmates, passing the ball back and forth, but he caught no sight of him until he got home to find Sam doing research. _His_ research. "It's a djinn," he greeted and tossed his dad a beer, eyes turned back to the computer he typed on.

His son was right.

But something was wrong.

John tried initiating fights that were sure to get responses. Dean started babying his brother. Nothing seemed to work, unless their goal was to keep pushing the last thing that Mary had given them away. Sam withdrew further and further until only yeses or no's came out between the too still lips. John had lost the fight so he gave in and relented to Sam's quiet and harsh ways. Dean though? Dean fought hard and dirty.

"What's wrong, Sam," he basically screamed in his brother's ears, the ringing in his mind blowing everything up. "Tell. Me. Why do you hide from us? Why do you hide from your family? Why do you hide from _me?_ "

And eventually, the truth came out.

It may have taken the Winchester's a few years to figure it out and for Dean to hear it boiled down to a few sentences that had come from his mouth, his tongue… the pain was severe. "You said to stop fighting," Sam shrugged his massive shoulders. He was now nineteen and big and everything that he shouldn't be as a little brother. Sam was independent and strong and brave and cow-headed and Dean had admired the way he had grown into his skin, but not at this cost.

"That was years ago," Dean had murmured and Sam once again shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. You told me not to. I followed orders," the voice was calm and collected and Dean wanted to scream again.

"Orders?"

"I'm a soldier, Dean," Sam sighed. "Soldiers fighting in the family war, you both leading the great Winchesters towards revenge for Mom's killer. I follow orders. You told me to stop."

"But not stop being you," Dean exclaimed, voice carrying louder than he wanted. Sam didn't wince.

"Dean…" Sam swallowed, the truth playing on his lips. He was tired of playing his silent part and he finally let the words out. "When… when you asked me to stop fighting with him, to stop questioning, to stop… wanting? You asked me to stop being me. I just wanted answers to questions he never addressed, or for you guys to be proud of some accomplishments that _I_ did. Me, Dean…"

They were quiet as the truth wrapped them in its harsh and unforgiving way. The atmosphere was heedy, but Sam turned back to his brother and smiled in the way that forgave sins that shouldn't be forgiven, like the sun had bathed upon a spot of grass that had been forever hidden within shade only now that the house covering it was gone. Forgiveness.

Dean wasn't a bad brother. John wasn't a bad father. Sam wasn't a bad son.

They were all a Winchester, and while they may have gotten lost, they were always found.

It may just take a little while.

* * *

Not sure I like it, but decided to post anyways. Thoughts? xoxo K.


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